


there is a light that never goes out.

by PatientIsTheNight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Canonical Character Death, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, It/its pronouns for the Distortion, Morbid dying thoughts, No I'M not the one who deals with death badly, Spoiler alert Gerry still dies, YOU'RE the one who struggles processing grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25395022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatientIsTheNight/pseuds/PatientIsTheNight
Summary: He never thought that dying would be like this. Hewasdying - no use in denying it. He’d always thought he’d die quickly and painfully, maybe in a fire, most likely torn apart by some sort of monster. Not laying in a hospital bed in America under a frankly ridiculous alias. Not like this.Not like this.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	there is a light that never goes out.

The first seizure didn’t surprise Gerard much. He’d known he wasn’t exactly  _ well _ for a while now. There was really only so much he could chalk up to the Distortion’s constant presence around him, let alone the number of avatars and Entities he came into contact with; he’d have to be stupid to not notice the constant headaches, the nausea that came and went but mostly stayed, the steadily increasing fatigue no matter how much he did or didn’t sleep. He ignored it for the most part - he didn’t have time to feel a bit under the weather, not with the Unknowing drawing closer and closer. Either it’d clear up or he’d keel over. Either way was fine.

Except he didn’t keel over. Not quite, anyway. The first seizure landed him in the hospital overnight, though he eventually slipped out through the window - they were talking about residency and long-term treatment, grand mal this and myclonic that, and he had work to do. But it got worse. It was harder to hide, and even Gertrude started hinting at taking it easy, though she didn’t push the issue, thank god for that. 

But it wasn’t the same. He was slower. His head always ached, the pain sometimes spiking and leaving him immobile. Half the time he couldn’t drag himself out of bed in the morning without his head feeling like it was splintering. His memory was getting patchy, and sometimes he just couldn’t get his hands to work the way he knew they should. His handwriting had always been shit, but now it was illegible to even him. The next seizure didn’t surprise him either - but the third one did, a couple of days after he broke out of the hospital in New Zealand and flew to America with Gertrude. 

The third time, he stayed. Not that he could run if he couldn’t get out of the damned bed. What a wonderful bitch of a situation.

He never thought that dying would be like this. He  _ was _ dying - no use in denying it. He’d always thought he’d die quickly and painfully, maybe in a fire, most likely torn apart by some sort of monster. Not laying in a hospital bed in America under a frankly ridiculous alias. Not like this. 

Not like this.

* * *

Gertrude came and went. Mostly went, though. She’d duck in and check on him every now and then, and occasionally stay longer to talk once the doctors and nurses left “Mrs. Jane Locke and her son Jonny” alone. They followed the same pattern they always had - they skirted the issue in front of them and talked about work. She brought her notes and read them out loud to him, he’d tell her whatever musings he’d come up with while staring at the shitty fluorescent lights. 

She shut another folder of notes and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “These lights give me a headache.” She grumbled.

“How absolutely _horrible_ for you.” He muttered, his eyes still screwed shut against his pounding head. 

Gertrude paused and laughed quietly. “That was probably in poor taste, wasn’t it?” She said, and he scoffed.

“You think?” They were quiet for another moment before he shifted a bit. “Could you turn the lights out, actually?”

She hummed. “That puts an end to our work tonight, then.” She said as she stood up and crossed the room.

“Oh no, what a disaster.” Gertrude shut the lights off, and Gerard sighed as the pain eased a bit. “Thanks.” He cracked his eyes open and mustered a half-smile. “Now I can see your shining face,  _ mum. _ ”

“Oh, can it, Gerard.” Gertrude swatted his knee as she went back to her seat, but even through his half-open eyes he could see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t suppose there’s much more we can do tonight, anyway. We’re still at the same dead ends.”

“Mm.” He grinned and let his eyes slide shut again. “Well, one of us is.”

She scoffed, and he was sure she was shaking her head at him. “Be serious.”

“I’m  _ dead _ serious.”

“ _ Stop it. _ ”

Gerard laughed, then winced at another spike of pain. Gertrude nudged his arm, and he opened an eye to see her holding a plastic cup out for him. He took it and raised it in thanks. “Water?” He asked as he brought it to his lips.

“No. Whiskey.”

The smell hit his nose, and he grinned and laughed again. “Your nurturing spirit knows no bounds.” He downed the shot and grimaced, sighing in relief at the burn. “We can work when I get out of here.”

Gertrude was silent. Gerard turned to look at her, and she immediately looked away and started shuffling her papers into her bag. “Yes. When you’re discharged, we can continue.” He turned away and stared at the cup in his hand, draining the last bit of whiskey from it. “So.” Gertrude said… hesitantly? That couldn’t be right, Gertrude Robinson never  _ hesitated. _ “How are you… feeling?”

He barked out a laugh in surprise. “Like shit, Gertrude.”

She cleared her throat. Oh god, he knew what this was. She was trying to…  _ bond. _ Disgusting. “I can ask the doctors about… moving your care. See if we can get you somewhere else.”

“Right back to work, you mean?”

“I didn’t say  _ that. _ ”

“Oh, come on, you never say what you mean. Doesn’t mean I can’t read between the lines.”

She didn’t say anything after that, but she didn’t move either. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling - the same bland tiles that were there earlier, just a bit darker. He could still see the weird stain above his head, and the water sprinkler that was frankly not up to any code he’d ever read, American or not. “Gertrude?”

“Yes, Gerard?”

He smiled in exhaustion. “Can you stop pretending to give a shit about me?” She opened her mouth to say something, and he shook his head. “No, it’s alright, really, don’t look at me like that. I know you care about stopping the Unknowing and not a whole lot else, and I don’t really care. I don’t blame you.” He shrugged. He might’ve been bitter before - now, he was just so, so tired. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Gertrude was quiet for a long moment. Eventually, she didn’t speak, but she reached over and took his hand. He smiled and squeezed it. “Can you do something for me?” He asked. 

“Depends.”

“When I…” He swallowed dryly. “I want to be cremated. And I want you to take me and - I dunno, throw me in the ocean or something. No rituals, no funerals. I just want it to be over.”

Gertrude squeezed his hand. She didn’t say anything - he didn’t really expect her to, to be fair. But no matter what she chose to do when he finally croaked, at least he’d said his piece about what he wanted. Not that what he wanted had ever mattered. “I’m not getting out of here.” He continued after a minute. “You know that, right?”

Gertrude sighed. “We don’t  _ know- _ ”

“What, you think I haven’t seen the scans? I know what late-stage means.” He ground his teeth and took a deep breath. “Just a matter of time.”

“Oh, that’s enough, Gerard. It’s not like you to just -  _ give _ _up,_ I know you better than _that_. You’re going to recover and get on your feet and we’re going to get you home.”

He chuckled a bit. “Optimism. Never expected that from you.” He could  _ feel _ Gertrude glaring at him. “I guess we’re both just full of surprises.”

Gertrude sat for another long minute in uncomfortable silence, squeezing his hand and thinking so hard he could practically hear the gears turning in her head. He wasn’t surprised when she muttered some excuse and started gathering her things - she’d always kept him at arm’s length, now was no different. She paused in the doorway and gave him another long, unreadable look. “I’ll tell the doctors not to disturb you,” She said quietly. “But I won’t make any promises.”

Gerard mustered another tired smile. “Maybe I’ll luck out and get the nurse who giggles every time she sees my arms again.”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Gertrude shook her head and - and  _ smiled _ at him before she shut the door behind her, and everything was dark again.

In all the years he’d known her, he’d learned to read her, to hear what she meant behind the words she said or didn’t say. He didn’t quite know what to do with the concern and… caring she was trying to show. In any event, he supposed she wouldn’t have to try for much longer.

He really wished he could sleep. He’d settle for flicking on the TV and staring at the wall, instead.

* * *

And in between Gertrude, there was Michael. 

He’d settled into a sort of pattern with the Distortion, too. It appeared in the in-between, when Gertrude was gone and the nurses wouldn’t do their rounds for a while longer. He didn’t know how many days had passed in the hospital, and wasn’t stupid enough to think that it did, either - or that if it did, it’d tell him. Their time together always passed in a blur. Sometimes, they’d sit and talk; others, it’d just hold him and let him sleep against its chest. Its bones always shifted and contorted under its skin, straining against the unnatural stress of being in one shape for too long, but it was almost comforting now. He'd compared the sensation to a weird but not unpleasant waterbed, once, and the Distortion had laughed before apologizing for the debilitating migraine it left Gerard with.

He’d slipped up once or twice and mentioned the Distortion when Gertrude visited - but thankfully, she seemed to chalk it up to the last bits of his sanity slowly slipping away. Gertrude’s visits always set him on edge, like he was resting on a bed of nails. Wary, suspicious. He was vulnerable, and knew her too well to think she wouldn’t take advantage of that, no matter what promises she made to him - not if she thought there was some remaining shred of him that could help her. He could feel her picking him apart when they talked, deciding what bits were still useful, what she could get out of him before he finally kicked it. Maybe she didn't even know she was doing it, at this point, but he knew he was just another stepping stone along her path and she'd cross him soon enough.

Gerard found it almost funny that after his entire life, it wasn’t the Eye bringing him comfort in his final days as he lost his fucking mind. But maybe it wasn’t the Spiral, either. Just Michael.

Gerard felt the crackle of static in the air sometime around two in the morning and didn’t bother opening his eyes, just smiled as the Distortion seemed to materialize already wrapped around him. Of course, it could’ve always been there, and he’d just noticed it, but it didn’t matter much. “Hi, babe.” He murmured.

It hummed in response, an off-key, discordant note, clearly upset. Of course it was upset - he was in the hospital hooked up to a half-dozen machines, evidently hours from death. A perfect date setting, in his opinion. “How’s your head?” It said quietly, keeping the static in its voice as low as possible. Which wasn’t saying much, but it still made Gerard smile that for all it railed on about its  _ nature _ , it still tried to make him as comfortable as it could.

“Oh, you know, it’s  _ killing _ me.” He grinned, and the Distortion scoffed and poked him in the ribs with a knuckle.

“You aren’t funny.”

“Nah, you’re right. I’m hilarious.” He cracked open his eyes to look at it. It instantly made him feel like his head was splitting open a dozen different ways, and he had to look away the next moment - but still. He wanted to just…  _ look _ at it. One last time.

It made another worried sound and pushed his chin to make him look away. He settled for resting his head against what may or may not have been its chest, but was comfortable either way. “You ought to save your energy.”

“For what?” Gerard scoffed. “Nothing else I’m gonna burn it on.”

“ _ Gerry. _ ” His name hissed and popped in its mouth, like an open mouthful of popping candy.

He laughed a bit and leaned into its form, and felt its arms come around him to hold him closer, moving so  _ so  _ carefully to keep from hurting him or cutting any wires. “ ‘M tired.” He murmured. He felt a chill sweep over him as he spoke - not afraid, not really, and not angry either. Just… tired.

It softened one of its hands enough to rub its fingers against his scalp - he knew it hated that the doctors had had to shave his hair off, but it felt fitting enough. He’d be just another cadaver soon. “Rest, then.” It said. “I am here.”

“Yeah, that’s why I wanna be awake. You see my problem here.” It pressed an exasperated kiss to the top of his head, and he smiled for a moment.

Another chill ran through him as the Distortion sat with him, practically vibrating from the effort of keeping quiet, but trying nonetheless. He’d faced the End before - of course he had - but this was… different. He could feel the steady, certain approach of the moment when it’d all just stop, and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.  _ Would _ he want to? Part of him would, maybe, just for the sake of the Unknowing. But he’d been ready to die for years, had accepted it, but he’d never thought it’d be like… this. Out of everything he’d seen, out of everything he’d done, out of everything he’d fought and killed and escaped, everything he  _ knew _ was out there - a  _ seizure _ was going to get him. No, not just a seizure, a fucking brain tumor. He was going to die in a cold American hospital bed with the Archivist waiting to swoop in as soon as he croaked, and a fear monster trying to offer him some small comfort.

He felt Michael poke his ribs again. “You’re brooding again.” It murmured. 

Gerard laughed a bit and turned to press his face into its shoulder. He knew by now that it wouldn’t make sense if he turned to look at it - really, it didn’t make sense to feel it either. But here it was, trying to be soft and gentle for him to rest his head against. “I do that.” He muttered, grinning at its dramatic gasp.

“ _ No, _ I never would’ve thought that from  _ you. _ ”

Gerard caught one of the Distortion’s hands in his and laced their fingers together. One of its edges nicked him before it could catch it, but Gerard was honestly grateful for the little bit of pain to keep him anchored. He wasn't ready to drift off just yet. “I’m dying.” He said suddenly, just to see how it felt to say out loud. Not great, turned out.

It twisted around in some untraceable way, its hand pausing before it resumed tracing patterns against his badly-sheared scalp. “Yes.” It said simply, and Gerard laughed.

“Well, don’t sound so glum about it.”

It made an unhappy noise somewhere in its chest, but didn’t say anything. Gerard craned his head up and cracked his eyes open again, and was met with a face-like space of swirling technicolor, smiling through the wince of pain. “You’re beautiful.” He murmured, and it huffed.

“You are  _ high. _ ”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Got me there. You’re still gorgeous.” He reached up to try and touch it, but his IV stopped short, and he sighed in irritation. “Ought to yank this fucking thing ou-”

“ _ Do not. _ ” It grabbed his wrist in one hand, and leaned down to close the distance. He ran his palm across its cheek, shifting sand like when he was a kid at the beach building sandcastles in the dunes.

“Not like it’s doing any good, anyway.”

“It is doing  _ plenty _ good, Gerry.” It sounded almost offended, and he couldn’t help but laugh. It fretted over him a lot more, these days. It handled him so lightly, like it was afraid he was going to shatter. It probably did - he was already so fragile, compared to it, it must see him as practically decaying. Which, once again, he was. God, dying made him morbid.

“I’m tired, Michael.” He whispered, and it nodded.

“Sleep, then.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His words hung heavy in the air around them, static popping around them. Gerard didn’t need the static to know he’d upset it - it didn’t like to talk about his impending mortality, but he didn’t stop. “I’m just waiting, now. I hate waiting.”

“You’re impatient.” It muttered crossly, and he laughed again.

“Yeah, I am, huh?” He took a deep breath and leaned into its touch, his eyes drifting shut. “Will you help me?”

It suddenly froze. The static crackled again. “Help you… what?”

“Help me die. Don’t want to wait anymore.”

The TV shorted out. Gerard heard a radio screech from down the hall and the TVs in the other rooms flick on and off rapidly, other patients screaming up and down the ward. “ _ No. _ ” It hissed.

“Michael-”

“I will  _ not- _ ” Its form hitched and seized like it couldn’t catch its breath. “I will not  _ kill _ you.”

It was unravelling, now, and Gerard caught its hand in his and squeezed. Its palms cut him, but he didn’t pay any mind to the hot blood that started pricking against his skin. “I want to be with you when it happens.” It wasn’t what he’d planned on saying, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t true, and it got the Distortion to still for a moment. “Don’t want to be alone.” He could feel the Distortion vibrate in barely contained emotion. It didn’t say anything, but pulled him closer and wrapped its arms around him and rested one of its hands against his chest. “I want it to be just like this.”

It still didn’t say anything, but the static slowly evened out, and its other hand slowly returned to his scalp. “I will stay with you.” It said - not a yes, not a no, but the best gift it could give to him. Gerard nodded and smiled in relief, letting himself practically melt against it.

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence again. He could hear the nurses trying to figure out what had happened to their radio, and hoped they wouldn’t come to check on him - that’d just be a statement waiting to happen. Exhaustion was pulling at the edges of his consciousness. He trusted the Distortion enough that he knew this time falling asleep would be the last. So, he took the hand resting over his heart and pressed a kiss to its palm. “I’m glad it’s you here with me.” He said quietly. It kissed his forehead, then across his scalp, once on the top of his ear. If it said anything, he didn’t hear - he just slipped into the static, and let himself drift away. Not afraid. Not angry. Not happy. Just tired, and relieved, and ready.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm personally a big fan of "regardless of how Gerry felt about Michael Shelley or if they ever actually met, he took one look at the Distortion and said 'I can't fucking perceive you and think that's very sexy of you'."
> 
> Also a big fan of "the Distortion is its own distinct entity and not just Spicy Michael Shelley"
> 
> ALSO a big fan of "Gertrude still used Gerry and drew a lot of parellels between herself and Mary and Gerry wasn't blind to that"


End file.
